She closed the bedroom door.
Then leaned against it.
Stupid.
Coward.
She pressed both hands to her face.
Outside, she heard Elias unfold the blanket.
The sound broke her heart.
She had created the distance she feared.
Still she did not open the door.
The truth came out because of a ribbon.
A blue ribbon.
Simple.
Clara had bought it in Laramie months earlier and forgotten it inside a sewing box.
One evening she washed her hair.
The cabin was warm from the stove.
Outside, snow reflected moonlight through the window.
Clara sat before the mirror Elias had made.
Her heavy dark hair fell loose down her back.
She struggled to braid it because one wrist had begun aching after a day of preserving meat.
Elias noticed.
“Want help?”
Clara almost refused.
Then:
“Do you know how?”
“Braided horse mane.”
She stared at him through the mirror.
“I am deeply reassured.”
One corner of his mouth moved.
He stepped behind her.
Clara’s pulse accelerated.
Elias gathered her hair.
His rough carpenter’s hands were astonishingly gentle.
He divided the strands slowly.
Clara watched him through the mirror.
His face was close.
Focused.
His fingers moved down her hair.
Once, his knuckle brushed the back of her neck.
Clara inhaled sharply.
Elias stopped.
“Sorry.”
“No.”
Their eyes met in the mirror.
Clara's voice came quieter.
“Don't apologize.”
He resumed.
This time his fingers deliberately lingered at the nape of her neck.
Heat moved through her.
Clara tried to joke because otherwise she might stop breathing.
“Keep touching me that slowly and you may not be sleeping by that stove tonight.”
Elias’s hands stopped.
Their eyes met.
He leaned closer.
His beard nearly brushed her ear.
“Careful, wife.”
His voice was low.
“I've been trying very hard to behave.”
Clara’s smile appeared.
Then disappeared.
The old fear surfaced without warning.
She watched her own face reflected beside his.
Soft.
Round.
Ordinary.
The confession slipped out.
“I told you I wasn't pretty.”
Elias froze.
Clara wished immediately she could pull the words back.
Silence filled the cabin.
She looked down.
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For making this awkward.”
“Clara.”
“You never said anything.”
“About what?”
“My appearance.”
Elias stared at her reflection.
“I thought that was kindness.”
“What?”
“Not mentioning it.”
His expression shifted from confusion to realization.
“Clara.”
She laughed weakly.
“It's all right.”
“No.”
“You've been very good to me.”
“Clara.”
“You didn't have to pretend—”
His hands left her hair.
She stopped.